Daily Fishing and Outdoor Report
Below: Holgate way back in the day. You have to study it quite a bit to make hide or hair of how it was when a inlet was there.
Sunday, January 13, 2013: Fogged day along the beach with a big swell running – about 5 – 7 feet and grinding. Still, it’s fishable and there are small stripers to be had, per those willing to take some time to have them. Not me. I seldom say this but I bite at every chance I get to leave LBI. The fix-up strain begs woods time be thrown in as often as possible. That also means I’m taking well-earned stints away from the computer. Thanks a bunch to Mike Farrington for the fine work he is doing on my homestead. Without his handiwork I’d be SOL.
OUTBACK CHAT: Tick, tick, tick.
No, that’s not the ghost of the Mayan calendar still roaming the cosmos in search of eternity’s end, nor is it even a far more coherent countdown to my total loss of sanity. I’m referencing actual ticks here – those bloodsuckers with a penchant for bandy about disease dangling proboscises. I took three larger ticks off my person, i.e. me, yesterday, despite our being in the lap of winter.
Ticks know no closed seasons. In fact, there are studies being conducted on ticks to see how they can hang on branches -- fully exposed to the harshest of elements, tolerating temperatures as cold as the skies can throw -- yet within minutes of temps rising a touch above freezing begin to aggressively move about.
There’s often utter irony with the way nature teaches us miracles. It oft uses the oddest of lecture halls. I sense that ticks can teach us the mysteries of cryogenics. Here we despise the seemingly despicable creatures yet just wait for the day future folks will be able routinely be iced away for who knows how long because of a single tick’s ability to climb onto me shortly after nights of being all but frozen solid.
AUCTION SCORES: Picked up a handful of excellent reels for a song at yesterday’s auction in the West Creek Fire hall. For $30, I got five rods and reels, including a mint vintage white Bakelite Garcia Mitchell 622 conventional and a near-mint green Penn Spinfisher 710. The rods were real nice, also.
I’ll bet I could quickly turn my “catches” over for a sweet profit at the upcoming flea market. However, I suffer a debilitating hoarder’s remorse when I sell something before first storing it out of sight and mind for at least a decade, neutralizing any and all profit through storage costs.